


Rather You Hated Me

by rhythmickorbit



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Break Up, I'm Sorry, Lack of Communication, Like really., M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Break Up, References to Depression, Sad, Texting, i'm projecting, implications of marching band, ish, uhhh this isn't happy guys im sorry, vent fic, venting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmickorbit/pseuds/rhythmickorbit
Summary: Sometimes, your best isn't good enough for people who don't want to try.





	Rather You Hated Me

            It would have been better if Lukas had straight up said that he hated him. Mikkel would have preferred anything else to this—any vicious fight, any scathing remark. He would have preferred any kind of conflict to the unbearable, scraping silence that made his stomach churn every time he checked his inevitably empty phone notifications.

            Even passing by in the hall, Lukas never said anything. There was never anything but a small nod in greeting, nothing but the occasional “Hello” and short exchange if Mikkel was lucky. He didn’t understand it.

            Were they not supposed to be dating? Lukas and Mikkel, two of a kind, lovers of a feather. They’d had some meaningful conversations after all, and Lukas would occasionally give the feather-touches or even the coveted hand grasps that Mikkel coveted so. Oh, how his chest ached for Lukas.

            He knew, though, that Lukas didn’t like to be touched, or bothered, or texted too much. So, Mikkel patiently waited through the silence. Patiently burning with both anticipation and guilt, like a puppy that had been kicked with cleats.

            “He likes me,” Mikkel would tell himself, through the gaping hole in his heart. He would occasionally, anxiously scroll through the messages that Lukas had sent, wondering if he had ever done anything wrong. If he had truly done something wrong, Lukas would have at least complained to their friends, right? The two shared quite a few of those.

            Every day, through orchestra class, Mikkel would glance at Lukas, whose gaze never met his across the room. Mikkel silently begged for it to happen, for Lukas to at the very least _acknowledge_ him.

            One day, Lukas was absent. He was sick, apparently, or at least that’s what Emil told Tino who in turn told Mikkel. Mikkel worried his lip every day that he didn’t see Lukas’ telltale beauty in class, feeling the absence of a cello acutely. It was a hole in the sound, although if you had asked Mr. Vargas the orchestra sounded pretty balanced. Mikkel ached with longing to at least see Lukas.

            Mikkel texted Lukas one night. “Are u ok? U haven’t been in school.” Something to at least show Lukas how Mikkel cared. Oh, how Mikkel cared for Lukas, so very much. It ached to think of Lukas being sick, and it ached even more to see the lack of even a _“read”_ icon at the bottom of the screen. Nonetheless, Mikkel brushed it off, as he always did. Lukas was probably just busy, being sick and all.

            Three weeks later, Lukas texted back. “Sick,” he said.

            Mikkel’s stomach twisted at the short response, such a barren wasteland from the long paragraphs he needed to fill the void. Bitterness almost rose into his throat, but he swallowed it back down with the violence of someone trying to win a lost war. Bayonets seemed to stab him from every angle as he stared at the screen, and he sank deeper into the quicksand that he must have made for himself.

            One day, Lukas returned. Mikkel felt relief, overjoyed to see that beautiful, clever boy back in his life. He ran over that morning, and jabbered about how much Lukas had missed.

            “Oh, Lukas,” his eyes glimmered. “I missed you!”

Lukas’ answer was, at best, lukewarm. “Yes, Tino texted me all about it,” Lukas said distantly, staring at his phone. He abruptly stopped scrolling, and began to type something into the device.

            They didn’t speak again for another week. Mikkel’s own conflicting feelings had become almost unbearable—and then, an epiphany hit.

            He had to ask Lukas himself.

            Immediately, Mikkel texted Lukas, describing all of the emotions and thoughts surrounding their relationship. “How come you don’t talk to me,” Mikkel asked. “If we are supposed to be dating?”

            A week passed.

            “I’m busy,” Lukas responded. “And you think too much.”

            Mikkel, stunned as he was, couldn’t look away as Lukas kept typing.

            “I don’t go on my phone very much.”

The blatant lie, the metaphorical paint in the face was as though someone had taken a razor to an already bleeding cut. Mikkel’s eyes stung as he typed, on the quickest of impulses, “I think we should move on.”

            Just moving his fingers took as much effort as it did to vomit. He felt hot and cold and awful all at the same time, and Mikkel blocked Lukas away. Two could play at this game—or, at least, that’s what the tiniest part of Mikkel crooned on the edges of his run-ragged brain.

            Mikkel cried for a while. A long while. He might have punched a wall, but he couldn’t remember doing so, despite his steadily bleeding knuckles. The pain wasn’t much, not compared to the parasite gnawing at him from the inside. He blubbered and screamed into the pillows on his bed—never mind his parents hear.

            It was hard to go to school, hard to do anything. Despite the weights tied to his ankles, Mikkel kept walking. He knew, somewhere on the fringes of his heaviness, that life raced away too quickly for him to stay in place.

            Nonetheless, it was like trying to drag an unwilling dog—an abandoned puppy— through the snow.

            One day, though, almost suddenly, the puppy broke away from the leash and trotted forward.

            And Mikkel, despite his grief, crawled, and then stood up.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I know this is different from my usual m.o. but please bear with me for a second,,
> 
> I truly love DenNor so so much. It holds a lot of nostalgia for me and Den reminds me a lot of myself, especially with how silly and immature and eager to please(i imagine that) he can be. I love Nor so much, but what if with his coldness he didn't have an understanding, just an unwillingness to communicate? (I know that isn't the intended characterization but for my purposes that's what I'm doing)
> 
> I'm not trying to demonize anyone, I'm really not. I hope it doesn't come across that way.
> 
> This is very much a vent fic, using a ship that I love so much to deal with a situation that was complex and that I won't get into. Nonetheless please please please don't ignore people and lead them to think you feel stuff you don't. Please be honest with the people that love you, whether you reciprocate or not.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys liked it at least a bit anyway.


End file.
